Break the Mirror
by DuskMoon15
Summary: (Shattered Glass AU) In a universe where the children are just as unstable as their Autobot guardians, Jackson struggles to avoid being arrested for his hobby again, Mikoto wishes she wasn't surrounded by utter morons, and Rafael just wants to watch the world burn.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Long story short, I love Shattered Glass, and I love seeing it applied to TFP. It just bothers me that almost everyone puts the kids with the Decepticons.**

* * *

Wrenching the drawer out and tossing it to the floor, Jackson rifled through its contents in search of some elusive object. Muttered curses flew past his lips as he reached the bottom of the drawer without success. He wrenched out another one and emptied it onto the carpet. Again, he did not find the object. This process continued until the entirety of the office had been ransacked, pens and all other manner of office supplies scattered around the teenager. Frustrated, he hurled the empty drawers into the wall and kicked them repeatedly, his heavy combat boots leaving round indentations in the wood.

Jackson jammed his hands into his pockets, drawing a breath through gritted teeth in hopes that the itching in his fingers would go away if he simply ignored it. Besides, it was about time he kicked the habit. At the very least, he could last one day.

Rocking onto his heels and then onto the pads of his feet, he stared at the window. Dawn was just beginning to break, melting away the darkness of the previous night. Red and gold bled together and set the sky ablaze.

He sprinted for the kitchen.

Five minutes later, he was seated on the counter, arms wrapped around his knees, biting down on his lower lip to distract himself from the compulsion to tear apart yet another room in search of the object.

No, the dean had said. He might abuse it.

No, the counselor had said. He didn't need it.

No, the police had said. He couldn't have it.

His mother hadn't said anything.

She probably hadn't even taken it from him in the first place.

A smile stretched his lips as he considered the notion and a quiet chuckle left his throat. His resolve renewed, he jumped off the counter and bolted in the direction of his bedroom.

* * *

Arcee and Smokescreen stared in utmost amusement as the human paced the length of the catwalk over and over, his left hand twitching and his head low. He kicked the floor angrily, finally sitting down to glare at his guardian. Unlacing one of his boots, he pulled it off and threw it at the Autobot. It fell short.

"I'm not your keeper," Arcee snapped, fighting the urge to blast him. At one point, she had been fascinated with the idea of having a human as a pet, but in practice, it turned out to be more of a hassle than it was worth. "If you want it that bad, go find it."

Jackson threw his other boot at her.

"Use your words, skinjob." Smokescreen's denta were exposed in a mocking sneer. Even as new an addition as he was, he knew that the teenager preferred not to talk.

Her usual lavender headband strangely absent, Mikoto ascended the ladder and settled herself at the edge of the catwalk—having slipped underneath the railing—to read a book. She hardly spared her fellow human a glance when he began looming over her shoulder. "You're in my light," she said at last, never raising her voice above a whisper. He stayed put. "Move, now, or I won't help you find it."

"Give it," Jackson hissed. He knelt and grabbed her by the collar, yanking her up so that they were on eye level. "Give it, give it, give it!" The words ran together, low and agitated. Mikoto retorted that she didn't have what he wanted, so he shook her with enough force that it left her momentarily disoriented. "Give it or I'll burn you."

"That's a bit of an empty threat, considering you lost your lighter."

"Give it!" The plaintive, drawn-out plea sounded more like it had come from the mouth of a child than from that of a seventeen-year-old male.

Finally losing her temper, Mikoto demanded, "What part of 'I don't fragging have it' don't you understand, Jackson?" She set down her book and grabbed a fistful of the older human's black and red hair, pulling his head back. "Let go of my shirt this instant and maybe, just maybe, I won't lock you in the closet and leave you there until tomorrow night. We both know that your mother wouldn't even notice you're gone."

He gave a strangled whimper and withdrew his hands from her collar.

"Good boy," Mikoto purred, as if complimenting one of her dogs for obeying a command. She patted his cheek with her free hand. "We'll buy you a new lighter on the way home."

Smart enough not to object, Jackson merely waited for her to release him. When she did, he retreated to the couch and curled up with his arms around his knees. If he hadn't bothered her, she wouldn't have pulled his hair. If he hadn't bothered her, he wouldn't have to watch his step for the rest of the day lest she make good on her threat.

"Abuse your boyfriend again, Mikoto?"

"Rot in hell, emo-goth," the girl retorted, refusing to look at him.

Rafael smirked, pulling himself up onto the platform. There was molten sugar dripping from that smile. He set his backpack down and withdrew a carving knife and a half-finished humanoid figure. Dragging his carving knife through the top layer of wood, he flicked the shaving in Mikoto's direction. "You first."

Mikoto brushed the wood shaving off her shoulder and returned to her book. After a minute, she cast the preteen a venom-laced glare, hissing, "Do that again and I'll shove you off the catwalk."

Defiant, Rafael lifted his chin. "I'll drag you down with me," he replied.

"Children, it's a bit early in the day for death threats," Ratchet scolded from his station at the GroundBridge console. He finished entering the latest findings from his experiment and turned to the humans, wagging a digit as a carrier might at her disobedient sparkling. "At least wait until I've finished my work. Can't have you getting under-pede when you're running away from each other, now can I? I'd hate to clean up the mess afterwards."

"Doc, you're disturbing," Jackson offered, uncurling slightly to make eye contact with the Autobot, when it became clear that Mikoto and Rafael weren't going to respond. They were still too busy glowering at each other. He curled up again, burying his face in his knees. "Can I go home now?"

"Jackson, sweetie, shut up before I lock you in the closet." Mikoto didn't tear her gaze away from Rafael's to rebuke him.

"Is it physically impossible for you three to get along for five minutes?" Ratchet inquired, his voice beginning to lose its good humor.

Rafael turned to face the medic. "If she stops threatening to kill me, then maybe I'll be nicer."

"If _I_ stop-" Mikoto broke off with an indignant huff, getting to her feet and making a crude gesture with her right hand. "Unlike you, emo-goth, I'm a good girl. Right, Jackson?"

A nervous laugh erupted from the older boy's throat. "Yeah, a good girl," he echoed, tightening his grip around his legs.

"He only says that because he's scared of you."

"That's it! I'm done with your whining and harping." Mikoto grabbed Jackson by the arm and dragged him towards the ladder, practically shoving him down. "Bulkhead! I want to go home!"

The typically silent warrior looked up from his datapad, crimson optics narrowed. "Get the rookie to take you."

Eerily calm, Mikoto repeated in a whisper, "Bulkhead, I want to go home."

* * *

Nestled into the crook of a tree branch, Jackson contented himself with flipping his shiny, new lighter on and off repeatedly. The tremors in his hands had ceased the instant Mikoto shoved the black device in his hands and told him in no uncertain terms to frag off, leaving him to wander about Jasper with his new toy in search of amusement. Eventually, he had stumbled on the school grounds, abandoned in light of the late hour, and decided to hole himself up in one of the trees until someone told him to leave.

So far, no one had even noticed him. If anyone had, they certainly would have called the police, and then Jackson would have been forced to give up his lighter to the chief for the sixth time in as many weeks.

"Ashes, ashes, they'll all burn down," he hummed, enchanted with the flickering, blue-tipped flame. He plucked a dried leaf from the branch and held it in the fire, waiting for it to catch and then dropping it to the ground below. He quickly grew restless and flipped the lighter off, shoving it in his pocket.

Too ordinary. Too small.

He needed something bigger.

His eyes were immediately drawn to the structure to his right. Allowing himself a delighted grin, he dug in the pockets of his leather jacket for a piece of paper. Upon finding one, he spared a moment to acknowledge that it was one of his office referrals, sent home for his mother to sign, but he merely shrugged and headed for the dumpsters behind the school.

He lit the edge of the paper and tossed it into the massive recycling container, ensuring that the rest of the junk caught fire soon after. Not two minutes later, he was standing several yards back from the container, tilting his head in utter fascination, arms hanging limply at his sides, lighter clutched in his left hand. The red-gold flames climbed into the air, searching for something to set ablaze. They licked at the brick of the school building—looked for something flammable lest they run out of fuel.

Jackson was so enamored that he hardly noticed the approaching sirens.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: This chapter contains an OC. The song used is called 'Edo komoriuta.'**

* * *

Internally cringing, Mikoto pouted at the stocky, balding man she called her host father and tilted her chin down slightly to give him what Americans apparently called 'Doe Eyes.' She twisted the hem of her cream blouse in her hands, shifting her weight onto one foot. "It's just until ten," she murmured, "and Shiloh's going…"

What she wouldn't give to get her hands around that stuttering bookworm's throat.

For now, though, she was content to use the girl as a scapegoat. Really, her host father should have remembered that Shiloh had been missing for over six months now. Anyone would think the old fool was going senile in his forties.

He faltered, tugging on his collar and stumbling over some incoherent reply before finally giving his consent. "Er, well, if- If Shiloh's going."

Mikoto felt herself brighten. She bounded over and kissed his cheek before heading to her room. Once there, she wiped her mouth with the back of one hand, scoffing. Why was it that adults were so easy to manipulate? She had half the school staff wrapped around her little finger, and her host parents thought she could do no wrong. The icing on the cake was that she had even been allowed to join the Exchange Program to begin with. Of course, her grades were stellar and none of her instructors had anything to complain about, but honestly, she had tried to sabotage the interview in every way possible, blatantly displaying her manipulative streak and coercing a secretary into letting her in the chairman's office.

Still, they admitted her, and she despised them for it.

Either way, she had thought, she might as well have some fun while she's here.

Shattering the relative peace, something thumped against her window—once, twice. "Cops are after me!" Jackson pounded on the glass, frantically glancing behind him as though the police had actually followed him all the way here. Knowing him, they probably had. Jackson had a nasty habit of neglecting to clean up his messes, especially those that involved a new lighter.

Her hand on the latch, toying with the metal strip that kept her from opening the window, Mikoto simply leaned forward and smirked at the panicked boy. "What did you do?"

"School—fire! Let me in!"

When they first met, Jackson had confessed his plan to burn the school down. He hated it there, just like she hated it here in America. The only things stopping him had been the security cameras, which had been taken down not two days ago because the school district could no longer afford them.

"Please, Mikoto, let me in!" Jackson shrieked. He whipped around, panting. "They're turning the corner right now!"

She'd let him sweat long enough. She flipped the latch and pushed the window open, grabbing him by the arm to help him climb inside. Immediately after he landed on the floor, he shot to his knees and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"I can't get arrested again," he whined, burying his face in her blouse. "They'll actually put me in prison this time; I'm eighteen."

Startled, Mikoto had leaned away from the awkward embrace, her arms up as though she wasn't sure what to do with them. Slowly, warily, she settled for stroking the boy's black and red hair and assuring him that she wouldn't let him get arrested. She appeared to grow tired of it after about a minute. "Jackson. Jackson, you can let go of me now. The police are gone."

His grip tightened. "A- Are you sure?" He cast a wary glance in the general direction of the window. A tight, almost hysterical giggle left his throat, and he had to bite down on his lip to stifle it. "I mean, you can't be too careful."

"Yes, I'm sure. Now let go."

Jackson withdrew his arms and retreated to sit on the edge of her bed. He kicked his legs, clasping his hands in his lap. "Can I stay here tonight?" he pleaded.

"Fraggit, Jackson! What if my host parents see you?" Mikoto exclaimed, rushing forward to grab him by the collar and shake him. "What am I supposed to say then? 'Oh, it's no big deal; he's just here to hide from the police.' Do you have any inkling of how much trouble I'll get in for that? They don't even let me invite you over, remember?" She pushed him back, pinching the bridge of her nose. Sometimes, she wondered if he even had a brain.

"So I can stay?"

She plopped face-down beside him on the bed.

As if sensing her frustration, he started petting her hair. "Nennen korori yo, Okorori yo," he hummed, stumbling on the foreign dialect but doing his best to stay on pitch, "Bōya wa yoi ko da, Nenne shina~"

Of course, the lullaby.

It felt like forever ago they had sat here together—him with his legs crossed, her with her feet dangling off the edge of the bed—while she taught him her favorite childhood lullaby. They had taken turns singing before joining together the final time, his voice low but surprisingly pretty, hers high but perfectly full.

"Bōya no omori wa, Doko e itta? Ano yama koete, Sato e itta," she joined in, her voice muffled by the comforter. She rolled over and propped herself up on her elbows before pulling Jackson down with her.

Together, just as they had that first time, they sang the final verse. "Sato no miyage ni, Nani morotta? Denden taiko ni, Shō no fue."

"Yeah, Jackson," Mikoto assented at last, "you can stay the night."

* * *

Mikoto woke up as she always did: forcing herself out of bed before the sun had even risen, trekking to the bathroom to brush her hair and put in her earrings, and finally making her way back to her bedroom to change. She looked around, rubbing the back of her neck and yawning, still half asleep. Something was missing.

Suddenly, it hit her. Jackson had disappeared.

She sighed. If he got arrested, it wasn't her fault. He was an idiot for leaving when the police were probably waiting for him at his house. Last night wasn't the first time he tried to burn down a building, after all. It wasn't her problem to deal with.

Still, if he got arrested, he'd probably be in jail for a while, and that meant she'd have no one to mess with.

She snatched her phone off the dresser and dialed the older teenager's number. The instant he picked up, she began tearing into him, demanding, "What the fragging hell were you thinking, you fragging idiot? You do remember that you tried to _burn down the slagging school_ last night, don't you? The police are probably waiting at your house because Primus knows how many times you've threatened_ in public_ to do this. I'm going to strangle you the next time I see your stupid face, you little fragger!"

"Morning," he trilled brightly, as though he hadn't heard.

She brought a hand up to her forehead with a loud slap. "I'm going to kill you. I am going to kill you and bury your corpse in the desert where no one will ever find it, because you are the biggest idiot this world has ever seen."

A tiny whimper. "Please don't hurt me, I'll go in the time-out closet."

"Just don't get arrested. I'll come find you later today."

* * *

Come noon, Mikoto had walked to the mall in search of a new headband to replace the one her host brother—four years old as of last week—had spilled grape juice on. She really hated little kids; they never understood the idea that if it wasn't theirs, they had no right to touch it.

"Mikoto!" A magenta and black shape darted over and practically tackled her in a hug. The offending person giggled, backing off with a quiet apology. "It's great to see you." Shiloh tucked a stray lock of curly, dark brown hair behind her ear and started fidgeting with the hem of her skirt. "I- I know we've never been on the best of terms, but my offer still stands. There's always room with the 'cons… if you want to come with."

The Japanese girl gritted her teeth, rolling her eyes. "Remind me, Shiloh," she replied after a moment, "how long was it you were in the hospital after that accident?"

Shiloh recoiled as if slapped. "Knock Out!" she whined, dragging the syllables out. Immediately, the blue-clad Decepticon's holoform appeared at the girl's side and pulled her into a comforting embrace while glaring daggers at Mikoto. "I wanna go. Can we go?"

"Yeah, sure, we can go," Knock Out assured her. He smoothed her hair and tenderly kissed her forehead. "Let me call Soundwave first, though."

"Sir Soundwave," the girl corrected, burying her face in his chest.

Mikoto huffed and walked off, hoping that something interesting would happen sometime soon.

* * *

**AN: Yeah, it's a bit of a filler chapter...**


	3. Chapter 3

Flicking a wood shaving off of his jacket, Rafael jammed his hands deeper into his pockets as he trekked across the campus. Word had it that someone—probably Jackson—had tried to burn the school down last night. Although school was a complete bore, Rafael didn't want to see it destroyed quite yet. He was just waiting for the Autobots to blow their cover and, consequently, blow up Jasper. Nothing happened in this Pit of a town, so why not wipe it off the face of the Earth? What were a few human lives compared to the end of a war?

Most days, the boy could tolerate the idiots he was forced to share a species with.

Other days, he would have been glad to watch this planet burn.

He kicked a pebble at the wall of the school, anxious for the day to be over so that he could get back to his carvings. Twirling his pen in one hand, he walked over to retrieve the pebble. It was rather pretty—rosy with threads of white running through it. He'd have to put it with the rest of his collection when he got home.

"Hey, emo-goth!" called an unfortunately familiar voice. Mikoto was perched atop the school's eagle statue, her heels kicking against the well-worn granite. No one dared tell her to get down, as no one dared face her cold, quiet anger if they ticked her off in the process. "When are you going to get your head out of the clouds?"

Pocketing the pebble, he walked over to her. Several students stepped to the side as he made his way to the foot of the statue. "The same day you stop being such a little glitch."

She clicked her tongue, crossing her legs and clasping her hands together in her lap. "Oh, Rafael," she murmured, pouting at him. "I may be a glitch, but I need you to remember which one of us has half the adults in this hellhole wrapped around their little finger." A smirk played on her lips, and she leaned forward so that she could loom over him. "All I need to say is that you threatened me, and you'll be suspended faster than you can blink."

"And I need you to remember which one of us is carrying the knife," he snapped. One quick movement and he could drive the blade deep into her thigh, just missing the femoral artery. After all, if she bled out, who was he going to trade insults with? Jackson was no good for anything like that; the nervous teenager would simply curl up and shrink in on himself. Goldbug couldn't comprehend earthen insults, so he was useless in yet another respect. The rest of the Autobots would rather blast him than indulge him.

Mikoto frowned. As a teacher passed behind her, she whipped around, tears in her eyes, biting the inside of her lower lip. The teacher stopped and asked if she was alright. She pointed at Rafael. "He has a knife, and he- he threatened to stab me!" she hiccupped pathetically.

What a surprise. He felt his fingers move to tear the top off of his pen and reveal the sharp blade inside, but he held himself back. Maybe he could flip this around and get the Exchange Student in trouble. "I don't even have my carving knives today!" He took his backpack off and marched up the steps to stand beside the teacher, holding it out to him. Wisely, though, he kept the ballpoint pen knife in his hand. "Go on, look. You won't find anything."

The older man rifled through it, pulling out folders and loose papers and scrabbling around at the bottom of the backpack. For a moment, Rafael wished he had put a knife in there—just so the teacher could grab the blade by accident and cut his hand open. It served him right for being one of Mikoto's playthings. "I'm sorry, Miss Nakadai," the teacher said at last, "there doesn't seem to be any kind of knife here."

Mikoto's eyes narrowed, but she quickly recovered and said that she might have been mistaken in who exactly threatened her.

"So, can I go now?"

* * *

Seated at the base of an old tree, Rafael hummed almost happily as he finished carving the figure. He put down his knife, admiring the piece from all different angles. Every detail was perfect, down to the pleated skirt and the headband.

Yes, he had carved a figurine of Mikoto.

No, he still did not like her.

It was just a thing he did; whenever he considered himself friends or enemies with someone, he made a figurine of them, an exact scale model down to the last detail. Depending on what he considered the person to be, he either damaged and stabbed the figurine until it was well beyond recognition or kept it on a shelf in his bedroom for safekeeping. Right now, he wasn't sure what he was going to do with this one. Mikoto wasn't exactly his enemy, but she sure as hell wasn't his friend.

So why had he made the figurine?

For one of the first times in his short life, he didn't know the answer to that question.

* * *

"Let me put it this way, you son of a glitched motherboard, I despise you, and I hope the feeling is mutual," he snarled at the Autobot, punctuating the statement by slashing his carving knife across the dashboard. The leather tore open, and Goldbug swerved so that Rafael slammed into the side door since he had refused to wear a seatbelt. Rubbing his head where it had hit the window, the boy glowered at the display panel. "I don't even know why Optimus paired us together. We're nothing alike."

Goldbug clicked and whirred in agreement, accelerating to throw Rafael back in his seat as they sped through the desert towards the base. As soon as they were inside, he braked, sending the human into the dashboard with enough force, the Autobot hoped, to break one of his ribs.

Before he could transform, Rafael practically kicked the door open and stomped off to the catwalk. He turned around once he had ascended the ladder, throwing a rock at Goldbug's helm.

The Autobot chirped angrily in response and picked up the rock, miming throwing it.

"What's _my_ problem?" Rafael demanded. He scoffed, crossing his arms. "I'm not the one who spent the entire way here trying to kill someone!" At Goldbug's immediate rebuttal, he retorted, "Oh, right, like cut leather on your dashboard is anything more than cosmetic damage. That coming from the one who nearly cracked my ribs. Real funny, half-clock."

A disappointed whirr left Goldbug's vocorder. He had been eager to cause some injury beyond bruising this time.

The boy plopped down on the couch, snatching a figurine of the black and yellow scout from his backpack. Pulling out his carving knife, he began to stab it again and again as he muttered curses under his breath. After a minute of this, he seemed satisfied and put the carving away. He then moved on to an unmarked block, dragging the knife through the wood and brushing the shaving away as if he'd done this a thousand times.

"Going to kill that damn idiot," he muttered, feeling his anger bubbling in the back of his throat. He wanted to break something and throw a tantrum like a child, but he restrained himself. It wasn't befitting of someone his age. At last frustrated enough that he decided it didn't matter anymore, he hurled the block across the catwalk, howling incomprehensibly in Spanish. He stood, whipping around to face the Autobots, his eyes catching like flint. His knife was clutched in his left hand, and he held it out in front of him as he hissed a threat under his breath.

Seemingly bored by the human's little tirade, Smokescreen strode over, nonchalantly grabbed him by the back of his shirt, tossed him into an open closet, and slammed the door shut.

Inside, Rafael screamed himself hoarse, pounding on the walls and kicking the door until he ached all over. Finally, he collapsed and curled into a ball. This always happened. He would start on a new carving and then he would lose control, his mind clouding with anger and frustration. He would thrash and screech and throw things before someone threw him in Jackson's time-out closet and left him there.

He could only hope the Autobots would let him out before nightfall.


End file.
